2036
by Xinette
Summary: Many years after he defeated his last significant opposition, Kira rules the world with an iron fist. Still there are attempts at resistance. But Haruko, who just works for a menial job and reports to the secret police, wants nothing to do with them. However, things don't always go as planned.


**A/N: Disclaimer: I own neither the rights to nor a copy of _Death Note._ I'm not trying to offend anyone with this story. **

**Thanks to sagewhisker1111 for beta-reading.**

 _2036_

Chapter 1: Murder

Haruko wrote the report that would kill her manager while sitting on her futon. Her legs were crossed, a pile of paperwork was on her knees, a pencil was in one hand and some cashews were in the other. Her long, dirty blond hair spilled down her back while her brown eyes were focused on the page. _I'm worried about my manager_ , she wrote. But she wasn't, really. She knew what would happen because she wrote those words.

He knew the rules as well as she did, as well as anyone did. And he had chosen to break them, knowing full and well what the punishment was. Haruko kept writing. _He lamented_ —lament was a good word. Oba-chan had been so impressed when she'd said it for the first time— _about the state of the world, nostalgic_ —another good word— _for the way the world was before Kira. He talked about committing some petty_ —Haruko thought more about this word. There weren't petty crimes anymore—murder, vandalism, jaywalking—they all had the same punishment.

So, she crossed it out. _crime, so Kira would do him in for good. I_ _tried to talk him out of it, convince him of all the things Kira has done for the world, but he wouldn't listen_.

 _I hope he doesn't end up hurting someone._

It was short, but it said all that it needed to. Either her manager would commit some petty crime, he'd be killed, and she'd look good. Or, he would back out, but her report would show that he'd been thinking negatively about Kira, and he'd be killed, and she'd look good.

It wouldn't be hard to corroborate her story. Anyone who knew her manager would know that he'd been at least nostalgic for a long time. Nostalgia was a dangerous emotion; it led to hatred, useless attempts at resistance, and, eventually, death. Haruko was just letting her manager skip the middle steps.

And, besides, speaking against Kira was crime, and he'd definitely committed it. She was right, so she had no reservations.

Haruko popped a few more cashews into her mouth, checking over the fields. Today _was_ the 4th, and her manager _was_ Masashi Miyamoto. All fields were filled out correctly, so she slipped the report into her bag and left her apartment.

She surveyed the street. The only person in sight was a man scurrying on the other side, carrying his briefcase over his head, as if to shield him from rain, but it was a sunny day.

That wasn't that unusual. The streets seemed to almost always be empty these days, or, at least, empty of people. There were always cars parked on both sides of the street. Many of them were slowly rusting, and Haruko suspected that most of their owners were dead.

It seemed that way, now, like most places were dead. Block after block was full of empty apartments, shuttered shops and broken-down cars. Kira had been killing people for well over thirty years now, and many places had died with them.

The dead places didn't bother Haruko as much as the places that held on to the illusion of life. She'd seen clothes out on the line before, having been drenched several times over by the rain, windows left open, the wind drifting in and moving the curtains, television sets broadcasting to an empty audience.

Haruko's thoughts were growing dark, so she started whistling.

There were three pieces of evidence that life still existed in this part of town. One was Haruko herself—dressed in bright colors and whistling, a slight skip in her step. Another was the security cameras—posted on every corner like eyes that never blinked. A third was the posters—they covered almost every building, the same image, the same face, printed over and over again. Kira's face.

The odd thing about the posters was that they were interchanged almost monthly, but never consistently. So, one building would be covered with posters from six months ago—Kira mostly in shadow, glaring at the camera—and the one right next to had just been added—Kira smiling, surrounded by children.

Haruko paused by that one. She didn't think she'd seen it before. So, she ducked into an alleyway and walked until she was almost completely surrounded by darkness. There shouldn't be any security cameras here.

She pulled one of the posters off the wall and put it in her bag. Then, she exited out the other side of the aleylway and continued on to where she turned her reports in to the SLA, Kira's secret police.

The place was an old police station, Haruko was pretty sure. It would explain the layout and the elaborate crest on the wall, under which were the words: To serve and protect. Besides, Kira liked irony.

Or so Haruko thought. She had really made up a lot about his personality based on what tidbits she'd heard and things she'd seen.

This time, there were two people waiting in front of her. One was an old woman, knitting. Haruko thought it was a little strange that she would do that here, in this place of murder and fear. Then, there was a teenager in red shoes. Haruko saw him almost every week.

A short woman walked out, dressed in a floral skirt and pink cardigan, and an older man lumbered behind her. "Next!" she called out, and the old woman stood up.

Haruko sat down in the last of the long row of chairs. This used to intimidate her so much, coming here, meeting with these people. They could kill her, and easily. But, since, she'd realized a lot of things. For one, it wasn't that much easier for them to kill her here than anywhere else. For another, she just had to keep them happy, and that wasn't that hard to do.

The woman in the pink cardigan came out once more, for the teenager, and then it was Haruko's turn.

Haruko knew that this woman liked her. It was pretty obvious from the way she softened up around her, and it probably helped that Haruko was always smiling around her. Oba-chan was right—people really did open up to positive attitudes.

Especially today. She sat down, bringing her legs closer together and keeping her eyes down. Vulnerable. "So, Haruko," she rose her eyes to meet Haruko's, "how's it been this week."

"Long," Haruko said. It had been a pretty easy week, but it was best to seem sympathetic.

"Yeah," the woman said. "For me, too."

Haruko watched the woman roll something around in her mind, around her tongue. She was thinking about saying something—but what? Haruko had to be calm, responsive and listening. She had to care.

"I really shouldn't be telling you this, but …" the woman trailed off. Haruko perked up. The woman sighed. "I've been offered a promotion."

Based on what little Haruko had been able to gather about the SLA's hierarchy, one step above her was the lieutenants, or, as they were better known, the red-eyes. According to Oba-chan, they had given up half of their lifespan to see everyone's names, which meant Haruko had to avoid them like the plague.

"It comes at a price," the woman went on. She was looking past Haruko now.

"But doesn't everything?" Haruko said, smiling. It wouldn't really affect her either way, but it might be a little better to keep the woman in this position. That way, she could keep this relationship going.

"I guess so," she said. "But this one is steep." The woman in the pink cardigan smiled. "So, how have you been?"

"Good," Haruko said. "I have my report." She reached down, pulled the paper out of her bag and handed it to the woman.

"Okay," the woman said, flipping through it. "Thanks."

Haruko smiled. She wondered if she should mention something else, about how she would listen to the woman and how much she cared.

"You can go now," the woman said. "I'm sorry to keep you."

Haruko nodded and left the room, passing everyone else who was waiting in line. She was relieved to be done with these people. And so, she walked home, talking the same route she always did.

Haruko liked to orientate herself by propaganda posters.

For example, to walk home from the old police station, she walked straight for three blocks until she came to the mural of Kira on the side of the grocery store. There, she turned left and walked for four blocks until she reached the list of laws posted on the side of the museum. They always seemed to be adding new ones, so Haruko had to walk across a tarp and avoid paint spills. After that, she walked for another block until she got to her run-down apartment building.

Ten flights of stairs later, Haruko walked into her apartment, setting her bag down. She remembered to pull out the new poster she'd taken down on her way there and grabbed a pair of scissors.

She sat back down on her futon and cut out Kira from the poster, taking out the background and the children, until all she had was him.

Haruko rolled little pieces of tape, stuck them to the back and pressed the poster above her futon. It looked good—flat, background completely removed.

And, it fit in perfectly with all of her other portraits of him.


End file.
